Chapter 4 - The Traitor at the Firm
By Friday afternoon, I was moved out of the ICU into a private, guarded room in the hospital's west wing. My leg hurt constantly, a dull, throb beneath the thick bandages, but my mind was clearer than it had been in years.
Arthur Pendelton sat across from me, his laptop connected to a secure mobile hotspot.
"If we want to prove Warren Hale, Elaine Mercer, and your husband acted in a criminal conspiracy," Pendelton said, tapping the keyboard, "we need to identify the insider link at your engineering firm. You mentioned Melissa Grant?"
"Yes," I said, sitting upright in bed. "Melissa had access to my travel schedules, my project site locations, and my personal contact details. But why would she help them poison me?"
"Let's look at her financials," Pendelton said, bringing up a secure database. "Melissa Grant, age twenty-eight. Junior structural engineer. Four months ago, she took out an unsecured personal loan of forty-five thousand dollars from a high-interest private lender tied directly to Warren Hale. When she defaulted on her second payment in July, Hale filed a confession of judgment against her."
"He owned her," I realized out loud. "He threatened to destroy her career or seize her bank accounts if she didn't cooperate."
"Exactly," Pendelton confirmed. "And our wiretap on Hale's primary business line picked up an encrypted text sent from Melissa's phone three days ago. Listen to this."
He clicked an audio file on his laptop. A tinny, recorded voice played through the speaker:
“Rachel hasn't been in the office since Monday. Her husband told the managing partner she has a severe flu. Is the deal still on? Have you cleared my debt like you promised?”
A cold wave of betrayal washed over me. I had treated Melissa like a younger sister. When her father was sick, I gave her a ten-thousand-dollar personal loan out of my own pocket, telling her to repay it whenever she could. I had defended her work to the firm's partners when she made calculation errors on the downtown tower project.
And she had traded my life to clear her gambling or investment debts with a loan shark.
"Where is Melissa now?" I asked Detective Marcus, who had just stepped into the room.
"She's currently at your engineering firm's main office on 5th Avenue," Marcus said. "She thinks she's taking over your senior management duties while you're 'recovering at home.' In fact, your managing partner, Richard Sterling, just called her into his corner office for an emergency review of your current project files."
I looked down at my bandaged leg, then at the IV stand beside my bed.
"Call Richard Sterling," I told Marcus. "Tell him I need a secure video conference link to his office in ten minutes. It's time Melissa learned what happens when you attempt to undermine a senior structural lead."
Ten minutes later, Pendelton mounted a tablet on my bedside tray. The screen flickered to life, showing the high-end, mahogany-paneled conference room of Sterling Engineering Consultants.
My boss, Richard Sterling—a silver-haired veteran engineer with forty years in the industry—sat at the head of the table. Across from him sat Melissa Grant, holding a leather folder, looking smug and confident.
"Mr. Sterling," Melissa was saying on the feed, "as Rachel's primary associate, I'm fully prepared to step in as lead engineer for the Bellevue Sky Tower inspection. Since Rachel's health is... uncertain... it's vital the client sees continuity."
"Uncertain, Melissa?" my voice boomed through the conference room speaker.
Melissa jumped out of her chair as if she had been struck by lightning. Her face turned ghost-white as she stared at the high-definition monitor mounted on the wall.
I sat upright in my hospital bed, dressed in a crisp dark blazer over my hospital gown, my hair swept back, my eyes cold and sharp.
"Rachel?" Melissa stammered, her hands trembling so violently she dropped her leather folder, spilling papers across the table. "You... you're... Mr. Sterling told me you were in a coma!"
"I was in emergency surgery having necrotic tissue removed from my leg, Melissa," I said smoothly, my voice carrying total authority. "Tissue that was infected because you gave Warren Hale my exact location at the Portland construction site."
"I... I don't know what you're talking about!" Melissa gasped, looking frantically toward Richard Sterling for help.
Richard Sterling didn't move. His face was set like granite. Beside him, two plainclothes police officers stepped out from behind the door.
"We have the text logs, Melissa," Detective Marcus’s voice cut through the speaker. "We have the bank transfers from Hale Capital clearing your forty-five thousand dollar debt twelve hours after Rachel was admitted to the hospital. You are under arrest for conspiracy to commit first-degree assault, corporate espionage, and attempted murder."
Melissa collapsed into her chair, bursting into hysterical tears as the officers pulled her arms behind her back, clicking steel handcuffs onto her wrists.
"Rachel! Please!" Melissa sobbed toward the camera. "He threatened to break my legs! Warren said he just wanted to give you a mild rash so you'd stay home! I didn't know he was going to poison you!"
"You knew enough to sell me out, Melissa," I said coldly. "And now you're going to tell the prosecutor every single detail of Warren Hale's operation."
I signaled to Pendelton, who cut the video feed.
May you like
I leaned back against my pillows, my chest heaving. One pillar of their corrupt structure had just been brought down.
Now, it was time to tear down the rest of the house.
